


The Church Bunch

by hanktalkin



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Humor, M/M, Past Character Death, Past Relationship(s), Single Parents, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:02:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22866793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanktalkin/pseuds/hanktalkin
Summary: Here's the storyOf a handsome fuckerWho was bringing up one very troublesome childThe kid spoke nothingButblargAnd he drove his father wildHere's the storyOf a man named ChurchWho was busy with three boys of his ownThere were four of themPut all togetherYet they were all alone
Relationships: AI Program Delta & Lavernius Tucker, Leonard L. Church/Lavernius Tucker
Comments: 6
Kudos: 29





	The Church Bunch

Tucker’s standards are so low he’s about ready to fuck the guy next door.

He’s got this dark, flyaway hair that just makes you want to run your hands through it, and this stupid little goatee that would look gross on anyone else but somehow Guy Next Door makes it look hot as hell. He’s scrawny but not like in a beanpole way, more like he’s effortlessly toned in the people-who-never-workout-yet-still-end-up-looking-like- _that_ sort of way. And it’s totally not fair that every time Tucker sees him shoving his kids down the hall whining about he’s not going to drive them if they miss the bus for the _third time this year Theo_ he’s got some empty calorie one-step-above-seagull-food junk crammed in his mouth and _still_ looks goddamned trim. It almost makes Tucker wish he’d take Wash up on the offer of leg day every once in a while. Of course, not enough to actually _go_ , wishes being fishes and all that shit.

Still, it goes to show that being separated for (four months. Holy shit has it been four months already?) and being utterly crushed by the single dad life had been hell on his libido. He jacks off to Tina Barrett like usual and in-between your regularly scheduled programming, Guy Next Door keeps fucking demanding to be in the fantasy threesome. Fuck off Guy Next Door. Tina doesn’t share.

So it sucks and life sucks and did he mention that the Guy With the Apartment Across From Him is _also_ a single dad? So he’s got the DILF thing going for him and maybe like attracts like, so what. The Guy Next Door is irresistible in every way.

“Hey cockbite. You leave your bike in the hallway one more time the next time you see it it’s going to be pegged in the middle of a telephone pole by the crossbeams.”

Oh yeah. Too bad the Guy Next Door is also a fucking _asshole_.

“Like to see you try, fucker,” Tucker says. (He wouldn’t: he’s pretty sure this dude could take him one handed, Cheeto dust or no, but Tucker has a reputation to maintain.)

Guy glares. “Just put it in your goddamned apartment. You know, the part of the building you pay for?”

Tucker takes one hand off his grocery bag to flip Guy off. Guy does likewise. They retreat into their apartments while holding up their fingers, as is their tradition.

That’s how most of their interactions go, and Tucker’s still getting hot and bothered over this shithead with perpetual bags under his eyes. Eventually, Tucker learns his name is Church, or at least his last name is, and he can determine all his kids are older than Junior if they’re going to school. Try as he might, he keeps snooping in on their lives, which totally isn’t his fault when they leave their door open half the time. There’s this guy that comes by every now and then that looks kinda like a social worker but not quite, a woman and some teen that rotate babysitting shifts, and the occasional GrubHub delivery. Other than that, Church is friendless, completely devoid of any life beyond his kids and whatever the hell job he goes to dressed in a lab coat.

Not that Tucker is doing much better. Juggling is hard, a lot harder now that _he’s_ out of the picture. Tucker was looking forward to at least getting back into the dating scene, but every time he thinks _tonight’s the night_ he gets home and all he wants to do is put Junior to bed and take a nap. It sucks. It’s like his life is being slupred out of him one day at a time.

So when Church stops him one day and say, “dude can you watch my kids for a second? I just have to run down to the street,” Tucker is in no mood for added bullshit.

“Do I look like your fucking babysitter?” he asks, balancing Junior on one arm.

“It’ll be eleven minutes tops,” Church says, his hair tousled in a way that says _I just had the best one night stand of my life_ but green stain on his shirt interrupting with _actually I just have a six year old_. “You don’t even have to go in, I’ll just leave the door open and you can…shit just make sure they don’t burn the place down.”

“You always leave the door open anyway dude,” Tucker points out.

“Are you going to watch them or not?”

“ _No_ ,” Tucker says while Junior tries to put his fingers in his nose.

“Awesome, thanks,” Church says, and suddenly he’s down the stairs and out the front door, leaving Tucker standing in front of the open apartment.

A minute passes. Six minutes pass. Tucker sticks his head in.

Well, the place isn’t on fire. However, Tucker can’t see any of the kids either, which kind of defeats instruction #1 of “watch my kids for a second.” After bouncing on his feet for a moment, debating if this is _really_ something he wants to expend effort on, he goes in.

It’s cushier than Tucker’s, but not by much. The TV is a bit nicer but there’s still last generation’s Xbox hooked up to it, and the lamps around the room are missing their shades. Tucker peaks in the kitchen, but no terrors to speak of. He sighs and sets Junior down on the couch.

“Don’t eat anything,” he tells him.

“Blarg,” Junior agrees.

Bathroom: no. First bedroom: no. Second bedroom is locked, leading Tucker to conclude its Church’s. The apartment is also cleaner than Tucker’s, which doesn’t seem fair with triple the amount of grubby hands that are getting everywhere. Grubby hands that are nowhere in sight. As Tucker is passing through the hall he notices that the outlets don’t have those little plastic-y things in them, and that gets his mind turning to other non-childproofed things he’s seen around the apartment and _oh god the coffee table had really sharp corners didn’t it?_ He goes rushing back to the living room to find Junior putting a plastic giraffe in his mouth.

“What did I say about not eating things?” Tucker says as he kneels and pulls out the toy, still connected to his son by a string of drool.

“Blarg,” Junior complains.

“…Right. You’re two.”

“You don’t have to worry,” a voice from nowhere says and Tucker almost chucks the giraffe at it in self-defense. “I was watching him.”

“Fuck!” Tucker whirls on the corner of the room where a boy is standing completely still. Had he been lurking there the whole time? How had Tucker missed him?

He’s Church’s oldest, a near mini-me of his father save for a pair of round glass that create a real nerd persona. When Tucker’s heart stops pounding, Harry-Potter-looking-motherfucker says, “that’s dollar for the swear jar.”

He points to a shelf next to the TV. Sure enough, there’s an incredibly full swear jar with words and prices printed on a nearby note card. There’s no way Church gives these kids enough allowance that they’re filling it themselves.

“I’ll drop it in later,” Tucker says. “Do you know where your brothers are?”

The kid tilts his head at Tucker. “I’m keeping an eye on them as well.”

Tucker is starting to feel a) creeped out, b) about as necessary as a bicycle for fish, when he’s saved from anymore horror movie children by the arrival of Church. He clomps into the apartment lugging a giant pole wrapped in fabric, a monstrosity of white canvas he can barely fit through the door.

“ _Finally_ ,” Church complains, leaning the pole against the inner wall. “Dumbasses think they can just deliver this shit by the side of the road and no one’s going to take it.”

“That’s another seventy-five cents, father,” corner kid points out.

Tucker shrugs when Church looks between the two of them. “I may already be in debt a dollar.”

“I see you two are getting acquainted,” Church says blithely. “Where are-?”

“Daaaaaad.” A whine comes down the hall, followed by the pounding of feet. Two more kids sprint in front of Church, the smallest holding up a plastic jaguar. “Dad, Simon tried to eat my puma,” he complains. Hm. Toy Noah’s Ark must be some sort of delicacy.

“I did _not_ ,” Simon says. He’s the only one who doesn’t look a spitting image of Church, a redheaded middle child if you will, with brown eyes narrowed in indignation. “Spit mixed with various substances was used as an adhesive across numerous cultures throughout history. I was merely seeing if it would stick to the dollhouse.”

Church narrows his eyes. “Is this because I took away your glue?”

“…My projects _have_ become increasingly difficult since you so shortsightedly removed the glue. Perhaps if you returned it…?”

Damn, does any kid in this house talk like a normal child? The youngest maybe, who is now looking at Simon in the fiendish delight that only getting your sibling in can bring. Honestly, the whole conversation is giving him culture shock after two years of nonstop _blarg_.

“Not when your ‘projects’ include gluing your brother’s ear to the bedpost,” Church tells him sternly, and Simon’s hopeful face falls.

“Why _did_ you stand there long enough for glue to set?” glasses asks the youngest who, from his hands, is the one responsible for the stain on Church’s shirt.

“…He said if I listened hard enough I would be able to hear other people’s dreams.”

Church rubs his hands over his face, and looks at Tucker again. “Well, I guess nothing’s on fire. Guys, this is Tucker, he lives next door. Tucker, this is Simon.” He indicates the one Tucker’s already ascertained. “This one’s Theodore.” He pats the head of the youngest who still has the round, baby-face the other two have lost.

“And let me guess,” Tucker says, looking at the oldest. “You’re Alvin?”

“What? No.” Church looks genuinely confused. “This is D.”

“…You go around calling your kid _D_?”

“It’s short for Dell,” Dell adds helpfully.

“D and Dell are the same amount of syllables,” Simon says.

Dell doesn’t even look at him. “So are Simon and Butthead.”

Simon makes an indignant noise and shoves his brother, which barely phases him. Church is now looking at Tucker which makes him remember Ah Yes. I Also Have Children.

“This is Junior,” Tucker says as he lifts Junior into his arms. It looks like Junior was going for a discarded antelope while the Church family were making their introductions, so holding him is probably for the best. In an absence of things to say, he musters out, “nice apartment.”

“Thanks I’m a welfare queen.” Church sticks his arms in-between the two shoving boys. “Hey! Keep it to verbal abuse, that’s the kind I don’t have to take you to urgent care for.” He then looks back at Tucker. “…So. What about you. Yours this bad to handle?”

Shit. Dad talk. Have they really moved so far past their mutual dislike that Tucker has to do that? He hasn’t spoken to anyone outside Wash (or Church but that’s mainly to yell at him to take out his damn trash because Tucker can smell it from his own apartment) in so long that he’s not really sure the appropriate Dad conversation topic.

“He’s alright.” Nice Lavernius. Keepin’ it safe.

Tucker rolls his shoulders, and watches as Simon takes Theo by the hand and marches them off to their room, apparently having formed an irreparable brotherly rift with Dell that will be mended by tomorrow morning. Dell, for his part, begins to put plastic animals back into the Ark.

As he watches, the words just sort of tumble from Tucker’s mouth. “Can I ask…how do you keep this place so…?” He makes a general motion at the relatively clean apartment.

“Not like a tornado?” Church finishes. When Tucker makes a face, Church says, “I’ve seen inside your pad too buddy. You’re not the only one who leaves his door open.”

“Fuck you man,” Tucker says and he can hear Dell mutter, _two dollars_. “I’m new to this whole single business.”

“Aw, his Mommy leave you to go screw cabana boys in Aruba and now you gotta act like a real adult for the first time in your life?”

“Daddy, actually,” Tucker says for the sheer thrill of sticking it to Guy Next Door who is a capital A Asshole. The look of slightly ashamed surprise is enough of a reward. “And yeah, that pretty much sums it. F-” Tucker catches sight of Dell out the corner of his eye. “Screw you though. Maybe he died, you ever think about that?”

“Nah,” Church says, recovering more quickly than Tucker would have thought. “I know what it looks like when your spouse dies, and you don’t got it.”

Now Tucker gets to feel the slightly-ashamed-surprise which totally! Isn’t! Fair! He wonders how someone could just _tell_ when you’ve got a dead partner, and nothing he comes up with is pleasant. He decides not to press it.

“Well fine, nice to have the olive branch slapped out of my hand,” Tucker says, and readies Junior to go. Naptime was like twenty minutes ago, anyway.

But, when he makes a move to the door, Church stops him. “Look,” he starts. He seems…uncomfortable? Regretful? “Try uh…making your meals in advance. It’s just a tip I’ve picked up, you’d be surprised the amount of time it’ll save you.”

It takes a second to realize Church is giving him what he asked for: advice.

“Oh. Uh. Thanks.” That…does sound like a good idea. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

“‘Kay. See you around.” And Church lets him go.

Tucker blinks, not sure what he should take from his strange foray into the Church household. As he’s shaking his head on the way to the door, Dell clears his throat, and when he gets Tucker’s attention, indicates the shelf by the TV. Tucker sighs, and stuffs two bills into the swear jar on his way out.

* * *

It’s pretty safe to assume Church’s wife is dead (and yes Tucker does know that it’s _wife_ because Tucker brings up the chipmunk thing again which makes Simon complain and Church tells him _it could be worse. You mom wanted to call you Sigmund._ ) because Dads don’t get custody unless the Mom is dead. (Cis dads anyway. Thank you state of Texas.) So that’s pretty firm in Tucker’s mind, but he never brings up again, even when he and Junior start hanging around the Churchs. Tucker doesn’t _intend_ to latch on to them or anything, but some sort of truce was brokered by crossing that threshold the first time, and when next he saw their door open he _may_ have lingered a little longer than usual and well. Church noticed him. Of course. Didn’t yell in their usual song and dance, just looked up from where he was finishing dinner and raised an eyebrow.

“Hey,” he said before Tucker could scurry off to hide his fluster. “Want a beer?”

And like…you don’t say no to that shit. Tucker isn’t _that_ far from his frat boy years that the instinct to accept any and all free beer has been beaten out of him. The night ends with the kids eating mac and cheese (Junior strapped in to Theo’s old booster chair) and the adults lounging on the couch playing Halo.

When he’s done, Theodore crawls next to Church and says, “can I play?”

“Sure,” Church says, to Tucker’s surprise, and hands him a controller.

(It takes Tucker an embarrassingly long time to realize there’s no actual batteries in Theo’s controller, but at least he _does_ realize it, unlike Theo himself. Woo, go Lavernius, one up on a six year old. Just the ego boost we need.)

It’s nice, Tucker thinks as he finishes a beer while the kids take turns “playing” with them, to not be alone in his apartment. And that’s all he spares to the matter.

So that’s how it starts out: not a plan or anything, it’s just that there aren’t any kids in the building besides the four of them, and despite the age difference they get along so well it seems only natural to hang out. Dell is used to managing his two younger brothers, and a third hardly makes a difference. (Except when Dell gets too into his Switch and Tucker finds Theo and Junior covered in glitter and wearing shawls made out of paper towel. Simon insists he needed “extras” but whatever play involves fairy wings and plastic lightsabers neither of them can actually lift, Tucker doesn’t know.)

They’re hanging out as a pair of families. That’s what this is, Tucker realizes when Church invites him and Junior to the public pool. And it’s a nice thing to have friends, ones that aren’t Doc, Wash, or the people who stopped talking to him after the separation. He could get used to it.

At least that’s what he’s thinking when zones out and loses track of Junior at the pool.

(He’s fine, he was with Church the whole time, but that doesn’t stop Tucker from spotting a random toddler he thinks is Junior, running at him, and ultimately chipping a tooth when he slips on the wet concrete.

(“They’re serious about the no running thing,” Tucker says later at the urgent care with his mouth full of cotton. “I’m going to be honest, I don’t know what the fuck is going on most of the time.”

“No shit,” Church tells him. “I’m better at keeping an eye on Little Lavernius than you are.”

“If you want to see Little Lavernius you gotta buy me dinner first.”

“Ugh. I’m talking about your _son_ , not your _dick_ , perv.”

Maybe the painkillers are more potent than Tucker thought because he’s kind of confused right now. “My kid’s name isn’t Lavernius?”

“You-” It takes a second for that to sink in. “Holy shit. You actually named your kid _Junior_?” Church starts to laugh hysterically. “Haha, I can’t believe it. You absolute fucking _moron_. You stupid piece of shit oh my fucking god ahahahah-”)

Church keeps laughing. He laughs so hard there are tears in his eyes when they finally escort him out of Tucker’s room. Something about _unacceptable bedside manner_.)

So Tucker’s made some mistakes. Befriending the really hot Guy Next Door and trying to hold his hand in a drug-addled state isn’t one of them. Maybe. We’ll see.

* * *

“Hey,” Church says, standing in Tucker’s doorway even more disheveled than usual. “I really need someone to watch the kids and I can’t reach my babysitter. Can you come over for a bit?”

“Wvhutn?” Tucker asks, fresh from nap.

“I’ll pay you,” Church presses, taking his disorientation for hesitation. “Or if you’re too proud for that, I’ll…come clean your house or something. Please dude.”

“No one ever accused me being too proud for anything.” Tucker rubs sleep from his eyes. “Bow chicka bow wow.”

Relief comes quickly to Church’s face, and it stays there for a surprisingly long time. It’s then that Tucker notices that there’s someone behind Church, someone he’s seen around before. The not-social-worker, a guy with a crew cut who glares at Tucker all while Church is talking again about how he’ll leave the door unlocked and he’s serious about owing Tucker one. Crew Cut tracks Tucker with his eyes, even when he follows Church downstairs, turning his head like a goddamn owl.

Well. This is how the day is now. Tucker collects Junior and crosses the hall into the Church apartment.

Simon is chasing Theo around with a plastic sword. Both are screaming. Tucker runs his hands through his hair.

Within thirty minutes, Tucker’s pretty sure he’s broken the fridge and there are three distinct juice stains seeping into the carpet. Theo is crying about a sword-induced head wound, and- Oof. Yep. Junior definitely needs a change. But he can’t go back to his own apartment while there’s literally a child bleeding onto the floor and speaking of the floor what if that juice doesn’t come out is Church going to be pissed-?

He can’t do this, he can’t fucking do this.

His panicking brain picks up his phone but you can’t call 911 for Dad Emergencies. What if-? What if he calls Doc? Has the high schooler come over and bail him out, and then whatever Church was going to give him he’ll hand that over. He’s desperate enough to try it, and he has his thumb over the contact button when a small hand touches his wrist.

He looks down at Dell, eyes so wide behind those glasses. He’s been so unobtrusive that Tucker’s barely paid him any mind. He gets the feeling that happens to Dell a lot.

“Don’t worry,” Dell says, a temperate echo of their first meeting.

“How do you expect me to fix this?” Tucker says in exasperation, and it feels like he’s saying it more to Church than anyone.

“Don’t worry,” Dell repeats. “If you worry, you’ll chip a tooth again.” Tucker’s mouth forms a thin line. “It’s not as bad as you think.”

Slowly, Tucker puts his phone down, letting out a draft of anxious air that had pent up inside him. Shit, kid is right. The only thing panicking has ever done was make him do something stupid.

“Okay,” he says to himself. “Okay, first things first.”

Bleeding child: apply one Star Wars Band-Aid. (Apply one kiss to affected area when child insists Band-Aids don’t work without kisses.) Broken fridge: just close it slowly you moron, (if you keep slamming it like that its going to bounce right back in your face.) Stinky son: run across the hall to the real changing table and to it there. (It pays to keep the others distracted though.

(“Alright Simon what movie are we doing?”

“You know if you let Simon pick he’s just going to make us watch _Spy Kids 3_ again.”

“…Hey Theo what do you wanna watch?”)

Make sure to bring your diaper bag on the way back.)

Juice stains: eh, put some paper towel on it. (You’re sure it’ll be fine.)

And just like that the apartment seems better. Well, in no worse condition than when Tucker found it. Theo and Simon fall asleep watching _Shark Boy and Lava Girl_ and Junior is happy to try his hand at sorting various blocks by color. Tucker collapses against the back of the couch with Simon leaned against his side. Man. Kids sure are great when they’re not awake.

He spies Dell in his chair, wrapped up in his game. Tucker says, because he still doesn’t really know how to talk to these weird, hyper-smart children, “…hey uh. Thanks. Back there.”

“You’re welcome,” Dell says. He fiddles with the thumb pad. Not looking up, he adds, “you make Dad happy you know.”

Tucker doesn’t know. Happy has to be an exaggeration, right? Tucker thinks the only thing that would make Church truly happy would be seeing old ladies trip on the sidewalk.

Instead of pointing out his dad is a douche, he asks Dell, “who was that guy your dad was with?”

“You mean Sarge?” Dell finally glances at Tucker. “He’s from the VA.”

The VA? Tucker had no idea Church was in the military. Something about that fact doesn’t sit right with the loser, henpecked picture Tucker’s created of him, a loose piece in a Jenga tower. He’s about to say something to Dell but again thinks better of it.

“Hey,” he says, offering up a disconnected controller. “You wanna play something together?”

Dell eyes it, unamused. “I’m eleven, Mr. Tucker. There’s no need to patronize me.”

* * *

Church pays Tucker back and then some. It becomes a routine for them, to watch whoever’s kids when the babysitter can’t make it or one of them just needs a night out (or when Church takes Dell on a trip to go?? Sailing??? Of all things.) Usually they conglomerate at Church’s place, but once when Tucker wakes up from his post second-shift coma, he finds his whole apartment has been cleaned and he thinks he’s falling a little in love.

One Thursday, when no one’s up but him and a prostitute he had to pass to get into the building, he pushes Church’s door open to collect Junior for the night. He finds Church with glue in his hair and Mac and Cheese on his shirt passed out on the couch, Theo and Junior asleep on either side of him. Tucker hesitates. Standing over them…the world feels very still. Like everything is where it’s supposed to be. He doesn’t want to wake them.

Instead, he goes walking.

He checks in each door, where Dell is asleep, where Simon cradles a giant stuffed frog. He thinks to go into the bathroom, splash some water on his face and maybe clarify what he should be doing right now, but then he stops. The door across from the bathroom is Church’s, and it’s ajar.

For as long as Tucker has been coming here’s he’s never seen the inside of Church’s room. That’s a normal thing probably: Dad’s room locked in a house full of children under the age of twelve. It’s not unusual or anything, nothing Tucker would be suspicious about, and he doesn’t know makes him so damn curious. Maybe it’s that same thing that kept him peering into his neighbor’s open door for all those months.

Whatever it is, he goes inside.

It’s pristine. Everything is neatly folded, bed so well made you could bounce a coin off it. It’s a contrast to the rest of the house, and maybe that’s it, mystery solved. But then Tucker sees something glimmer on the vanity, and can’t help but pass through the immaculate room to the waiting anomaly.

It’s a black box sitting on its own lid, propped up enough so the contents can be seen but not so much that they’ll fall out. Tucker reaches in, fingers brushing the red fabric as he looks at the dog tags. There’s a photograph next to the box. Tucker doesn’t want to look at the name on the tags.

“Next time I’ll put a sock on the door. Apparently it’s the only thing that’ll keep you out.”

Tucker whirls at the unexpected (and yet one he _should_ have expected) voice, and narrowly avoids knocking over the display. Thankfully, he nabs it before it goes spinning over the edge and clumsily puts it back into place. Which is good. Desecrating Dead Wife’s Memorial is not something he wants to add to his already extensive laundry list of fuck ups for the night.

“Uh!” he says. “Hey Church! Funny to see you. In. Your room.”

“Tucker,” Church says through dark rimmed eyes.

“Was just admiring your uh…tiny collection of flag pins? That you have? And also I got lost on the way to the bathroom-”

“Tucker-”

“I really sorry I don’t know what I’m doing here-”

“ _Tucker_.” Church heaves the words like they take all his strength. “Just…shut up. Shut up, okay?”

But Church doesn’t look pissed, which is actually more alarming than if he were because pissed Church is _normal_ Church. Now he just looks tired. He stares at Tucker for a moment before giving up on him, and sits on the edge of the bed. After a moment, Tucker joins him.

“So…” Tucker says a minute later, because what do you say to your best friend after breaking into his room? “All that veterans’ stuff…that was for your wife?”

Church nods. Before Tucker can ask, he says, “killed in action.”

“Ah. Right.”

And they sit in silence for even longer this time, the pale blue of Church’s room turning ghostly as it becomes well past midnight. Church rubs sleep from his eyes.

“Tex…” Church says, and it surprises Tucker, all the weight of a confession bearing down on him. “Was a shitty mom. And a shitty wife too if I’m being honest.” Church leans over and runs his hands through a greasy mess of hair.

Whoa. Okay. That was not what Tucker was expecting to come out of him, and it seems way too heavy for this time of night, but it’s not like Tucker is going to stop him.

“All we’d do is fight and call each other names and shit. She left me a few times and cheated on me and- fuck. We still tried to be together.” He looks into the middle distance, seeing someone Tucker can’t. “When I proposed I thought that would make everything better. And then when that didn’t work we thought _having kids_ would make everything better, which is a shit reason I know, you don’t have to tell me.”

“Wasn’t going to.” There’s a lump in Tucker’s throat, something old and forgotten that Church didn’t even know he’d kicked over when he went walking through the garden. “It’s like…there’s this hole. Between you. And you think a kid’s going to fill that hole because that’s what everyone else is doing and it works for them, right?”

Church looks at him for the first time, really _looks_ at him that isn’t through a haze of exhaustion.

Tucker keeps going because he’s an idiot and no one’s ever accused him of being too proud. “Things _should_ work. And when they don’t you think you’re just not putting in enough or…there must just be something fundamentally wrong with you. Like you’re built to be a shit husband.”

Church is still looking at him, and Tucker is very aware of how stupid he sounds, the pseudo relationship philosophy that’s pouring out of his mouth, but he can’t help himself. It’s what he’s been thinking to himself, every minute since.

Suddenly, Church isn’t looking at him anymore, because he’s grabbing the front of Tucker’s shirt and hauling him into a kiss. Tucker kisses back without thinking, because after all the foul word vomit that’s left him in the space of seconds, this feels like relief. They go on like that, hands tugging at shirts, noses pressed to exposed neck, biting Church’s bottom lip. He feels like he could stay like this forever, until he cracks open an eye and sees the picture of a very intimidating woman in fatigues raising her eyebrows at him.

“Hey uh,” he says, “can we not do this in front of the shrine to your dead wife?”

Church’s brows squash together. “You didn’t know Tex, so I’ll let you in on this: she honestly wouldn’t give a fuck.” Church leans in again, but Tucker presses his lips firm together and mirrors the motion backwards. Church sighs. “Uhg, fine.”

They part, sitting on the bed once again, but the moment is over. Church stands, and stretches.

“I think that’s enough guy talk for one night,” he tells Tucker.

“Yeah. Right. Totally.” Tucker still feels the itch of the goatee at the corner of his mouth.

“You’re not at much of a fuckhead as I thought, Tucker.” Church offers him a hand up. When Tucker takes it, Church pulls him close and tells him, “but stay the _fuck_ out of my room.”

Tucker thinks on it for a second. “Soooo…taking this back to my place then?”

He has to jump back to avoid getting punched in the arm.


End file.
